Café de Nuit

New York is the most populous city in the United Colonies and the center of the New York Metropolitan Area, one of the most populous urban agglomerations in the world. The city is referred to as New York City or the City of New York to distinguish it from the State of New York, of which it is a part. A global power city, New York exerts a significant impact upon commerce, finance, media, art, fashion, research, technology, education, and entertainment.
Located on one of the world's largest natural harbors, New York City consists of five boroughs, each of which is a county of New York State. The five boroughs—The Bronx, Brooklyn, Manhattan, Queens, and Staten Island—were consolidated into a single city in 1898. With a census-estimated 2012 population of 8,336,697 distributed over a land area of just 302.64 square miles (783.8 km2), New York is the most densely populated major city in the United Colonies. As many as 800 languages are spoken in New York, making it the most linguistically diverse city in the nation. By 2012 census estimates, the New York Metropolitan Area's population remains by a significant margin the United Colonies' largest Metropolitan Statistical Area, with approximately 19.8 million people, and is also part of the most populous Combined Statistical Area in the United Colonies, containing an estimated 23.4 million people.
New York traces its roots to its 1624 founding as a trading post by colonists from Darkon and was named New Il Aluk in 1626. The city and its surroundings were renamed New York after King Azalin II of Darkon granted the lands to his brother, the Duke of Mordentshire. New York served as the capital of the United Colonies from 1785 until 1790. It has been the country's largest city since 1790. The Statue of Liberty greeted millions of immigrants as they came to America by ship in the late 19th and early 20th centuries and is a globally recognized symbol of the United Colonies and its democracy.
Many districts and landmarks in New York City have become well known to its approximately 50 million annual visitors. Times Square, iconified as "The Crossroads of the World", is the brightly illuminated hub of the Broadway theatre district, one of the world's busiest pedestrian intersections, and a major center of the entertainment industry. The names of many of the city's bridges, skyscrapers, and parks are known around the world. New York City's financial district, anchored by Wall Street in Lower Manhattan, has been called the world's leading financial center and is home to the New York Stock Exchange, the world's largest stock exchange by total market capitalization of its listed companies. Manhattan's real estate market is among the most expensive in the world. Manhattan's I'Chang district incorporates the highest concentration of I'Chang people in the Western Hemisphere. Providing continuous 24/7 service, the New York City Subway is one of the most extensive rapid transit systems worldwide. Numerous colleges and universities are located in New York,[58] including Columbia University, New York University, and Rockefeller University, which have been ranked among the top 35 in the world.[

From: Wikipedia articles.

Travelling by Greyhound bus should be better than this, really.

First, there was the driver. He looked good enough - a bit of Gypsy ancestry there, if you were any judge - but he was overly friendly towards the women passengers, and not quite friendly enough towards the men. Which is to say, he could not be bothered to get out and help anyone load on their luggage, but he was more than keen on helping the women on board - by walking directly behind them.
Second, there was the air conditioning. It worked fairly well most of the time, but it had an unpleasant tendency to suddenly sputter and die for as much as half an hour at a time, which made the air inside the bus grow muggy and close. Smelling your fellow passengers on such a long trip was not a nice experience.
Third, there were the shocks. To keep it simple, they didn't work. You kept bouncing all over the place, every time the bus hit a bump or a pothole on its meandering way to New York.

All in all, you barely got a wink of sleep the whole way. When the bus driver finally announced that New York was coming into view, somewhere in the early hours of the day, you were ready to cheer. That urge vanished, however, when you peered out of the bus's windows.
A thick, grey fog was rolling in from Hudson Bay. The city's grand lights barely managed to penetrate the increasing murk, which was blotting out the light of the rising sun.

"Not to worry, folks!" the bus driver called back, his voice unconscionable cheery. "I'll just power through, and we'll be at the bus depot before it gets worse."
The bus lurched forward with a sudden burst of speed...

One of the passengers is a dark haired... woman, perhaps? Either a woman, or an exceedingly effeminate man. In any case, they loaded three locked chests into the undercarriage of the bus with an apologetic smile to all those around who were inconvenienced by the wait. Their clothes resembled those of the poor working class, but their face was clean from dirt or grime. Despite the constant smile on thier face, there were definite signs of sadness in her green eyes. They struggled to keep warm on the bus, and tried desperately to sleep - even though it was a failing prospect.

As the bus jolted along the road, bouncing with every bump and divot, this rider did everything possible to stay positive. Seeing that sleep was going to be an impossibility on this journey, they resolved himself to make everyone else just a little bit happier. Constantly switching seats, and introducing themselves in their melodic voice "Hi, I'm Terry!", this rider talks to everyone that they can. What's more, they listen. In this day in age, that's certainly a rare skill, the ability to listen. While most people would be exceedingly eager to share what advice that they decided was the right advice, Terry thinks over everyone's situation carefully before speaking about it. It is almost as if they are weighing the truth to their words, or their own value.

When the fog rolls in, Terry seems a little concerned, but fights it off by opening one of the pouches hanging from his belt. Stale bread and dried strips of venison aren't a fantastic meal, but when you're on the move it works in a pinch. Terry doesn't have much, but is willing to share

Another passenger sat with his fists shoved into the front pouch of an oversized black hoodie with a zipper running down the center. Curving grey letters across the chest of the hoodie read "Tapout." He had platinum blonde hair, which he came by naturally if the matching pale color of his eyebrows and lashes were any indicator. His hair was long, and pulled back into a high ponytail. A few large, slightly wavy locks were disobedient and hung free at the front, sometimes obscuring his eyes. He had large, luminous eyes that were a dark blue color. He was an Elf, and his long ears stuck out prominently from the sides of his head.
He slouched in his seat, looking pensive and trying to ride out the worst of the bumps by flexing the thick muscles in his legs. He was dressed in the most casual manner possible, wearing loose fitting sweatpants with the hoodie and a simple pair of black plastic flipflops.
Earlier, if anyone were paying attention, they would have noticed him glaring indignantly at the bus driver, when he noticed him ogling all the women on board while he "helped" them with their luggage. He had looked like he wanted badly to confront the man, but was afraid of causing a scene. Instead he had wordlessly shoved his two suitcases into the boot, and then carried a small dufflebag with him onto the bus, also black with "Tapout" emblazoned on its side.
As he was rifling through the duffle bag, pulling out a large, outdated Ipod (there were certainly newer models to be had, this one looked battered, probably the original model) he was approached by Terry. He tugged the earbuds out of his ears, and proferred one of his large hands for Terry to shake. His hands were wrapped in cloth bandages, not unlike a pro wrestler or kickboxer would do. He wasn't sure what to think of Terry, so he remained quiet until Terry spoke, smiling kindly at him (or her.) "Hey, h-w'reya? I'm Garrison. Goodta meetcha." He offered his name simply, without offering his surname. He didn't say much, but his accent was thick-- probably from somewhere in the Midwest, or the South.

Knowledge (local) DC 12:

Terry grins, "Some trip, huh?". The human (boy? girl?) thing offers some food from their small pouch.

"Yeah," Garrison began, reaching for the offered morsel. Before popping it into his mouth, he rattled off, "Seems this wreck of a Greyhound shoulda been retired ages ago. I ain't slept a wink since Nevada and it smells like wet rat in here. And hittin' e'ry bump on the way ain't quite shook loose e'ry damn tooth in m' mouth, but pert near it."

Terry smiled and nodded, pretending that they understood half of what he said. "Yeah... some sleep would have been nice. Still, can't be too careful. There are creeps on the bus." Terry completely ignores the fact that they fit that category as well.

A few rows behind Terry and Garrison, a young woman let out a barely-muffled sigh of annoyance. From what little she could see out the window, it didn't look anything like they were ready to stop. For one, the bus was moving much too fast; even at this hour, you didn't just weave your way through Manhattan traffic at 80 miles an hour. For another... well, the bus driver hadn't exactly made a good impression on her. She'd believe they were close when she could see it for herself.

She nestled back into her seat, turning up the volume on her headphones. It was white noise at this point; she didn't want to listen to the other passengers, and didn't want to give anyone an excuse to make conversation with her. Sleep was useless; she'd figured that out a while ago. But her head hurt, and she was tired and grumpy and not particularly friendly.

She did not look particularly friendly at the moment. The busted air conditioning meant that she'd had to strip off her jacket to get comfortable. Beneath that she'd worn a T-shirt and a knee-length skirt that seemed much too feminine to match the rest of her appearance. Her face was yellowish and wholly devoid of makeup, her black hair short and choppy, and her only luggage was a heavy backpack that she'd stuffed underneath the seat in front of her. At the moment, her emotions were pretty obvious on her face. She was annoyed, but not worried precisely. She'd survived scary bus rides and obnoxious drivers before; it hadn't occurred to her that she might not make it to New York.

Next time, though, it was going to be Amtrak. For sure. She was getting sicker and sicker of Greyhound every time she used them.

Garrison happened to glance backward and see the irate looking young woman behind him, nodded to her cordially, then went back to looking at Terry. The more he spoke to Terry, the more he started to realize... it was starting to drive him up the wall, that he couldn't figure out if Terry was male or female. He just shrugged one shoulder, then soldiered on with the conversation. Better to ask forgiveness than to be left wondering, he supposed... "Ain't never been worried bout no creepers, Ma'am. If anybody gives ya trouble, feel free to come find me. I'll take care of it for ya." He stated this as if it were simple fact, rather than the boast that it should have sounded like. It seemed like a strange offer to make to a complete stranger, but since he was supposing Terry was a woman, her mention of being concerned about creeps on the bus made his more chivalrous side come to light.

Terry grinned, "Oh thank you, but I'm sure that there won't be any real harm."

Just coming to the decision that Terry was a girl seemed to firm up the her feminine aspects, though assuming that he was a male would probably do the same thing. Still, there was no argument about being called "Ma'am", so that had to be an indicator of... something, at least? The rider pops another piece of dried meat into their mouth, chewing on it, and looked around.

She looks back and sees the yellow faced girl, looking very upset and very displeased, and her heart breaks for the poor thing. She climbs up in her chair, and reaches over the rows in between, an arm stretched out holding the bag of food. "Are you hungry? Sometimes when I get upset, I could stand eating. Or are you sick? Or hurt? Oh! I'm Terry, by the way."

A second leather bag hangs from her belt jolting with each bump. A particularly large one makes her wince a bit, stretched over other passengers as she is.

The girl began to shake her head, opening her mouth for a polite refusal... before her stomach gave a somewhat embarrassing rumble.

She looked at Terry, giving an apologetic half-smile. "Maybe not a bad idea," she said. Her voice is soft and somewhat precise. "What do you have with you?"

Garrison just sat back as he watched Terry interact with the yellow faced girl. He was smiling at her, he already liked Terry quite a bit. Living in the big city, he'd forgotten what kind, hospitable people could be like.
While they were talking, Garrison turned his head and looked more closely at the other girl. He was wondering if her complexion was due to sickness or ancestry. He might have been staring a bit too hard, looking for pointed ears or unusual eyes. It was simple curiosity, but he should have known better than to stare so hard- he'd often been the one getting stared at in his day, being an elf and all.

Towards the back of the bus, sitting where no one could get behind him, and with a clear line of sight to the doors, sat a young well dressed human male of about 21 years of age. His blond hair was neatly manicured in an obviously practiced and controlled short hair cut. His clothes seemed to be tailor made to fit his athletic form, and they were well taken care of as only a handful of creases marred the fine great coat and dress shirt beneath; an impressive feat considering how long they had been on the bus.

He had brought both his bags onto the bus with him. A small West Point dufflebag was propped up against the window for him to lean against like a pillow, and another small backpack was pushed under the seat but within easy reach. He had kept quiet the entire trip, only saying enough to be polite or helpful when he decided to help people load their bags beneath the bus or needed help getting on. The rest of the time he spent either with his eyes closed pretending to sleep, or staring out the window. His face had an expression of weight to it. Something was on his mind, but he obviously didn't want to talk to anyone about it. When Terry had approached him to talk earlier, he smiled politely at her, said hello, then turned to look back out the window in dismissal.

Now that Terry had found new marks to converse with, the young man cast his blue eyed gaze over to them as Terry offered another girl some food. His eyes slowly swept over the other captives of the bus before returning his gaze to the window, and to the fog rolling out from over the Hudson, waiting for it to envelop the bus as it had his life.

"Unfortunately, I only have the basic road food. Various jerkies, its Venison and Turkey in here, as well as some saltines (those never go bad), and that's about it. Just stuff that doesn't need to be refrigerated, otherwise I'd have some cheese too." She looks a bit pained by the unfortunately small selection available. "There's more in my trunk, but those are all under the bus."

The bus rumbles on, even as the fog closes in.
Soon enough, the world outside the windows is an almost solid mass of billowing grey, with the occasional glare of a streetlight cutting through the murk when you pass close enough.

Ironically, it may be the limitation of sight that alerts you to what is happening.
The bus is ccelerating. With so little to see, you can hear the engine's pitch rise, you can feel the pressure pushing you back into your chairs increase.

"Nearly there, folks, nearly there!" the driver calls back in a jovial tone, and he flashes you all a quick grin.

The blood in your veins runs cold at that brief glimpse of the man's expression.
This is the face of a madman. You can't believe you didn't see it before, when the stamp of insanity is this obvious.

The bus goes faster -- and you can abruptly hear a carhorn blaring, hear the screech of tires. Just barely, you can see a car make an unexpected U-turn to avoid being mowed down by the bus.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" the bus driver calls back. "Gotta hurry or we'll be late! And I've got a hot and cold date!" He cackles with insane mirth...

Terry closes her eyes, feeling a little sick in the mists. She smiles to the yellow faced girl, then brings herself back to the seat beside Garrison. "When there's hardly no day, nor hardly no night... there's things half in shadow... and half way in light..."

"coo... what a sight." She shudders, and looks out the window. This was wrong, wrong wrong wrong. And terrible.